


Nerves and Mistletoe

by Dovesummer



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, F/M, Murder Under the Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:09:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4589043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovesummer/pseuds/Dovesummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot.  An exploration of Phryne's thoughts at the end of Murder Under the Mistletoe.  Some spoilers for the end of the episode, although I'm assuming most of us have seen it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nerves and Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> I'll start by saying this is the first time I've posted any of my fanfiction. I don't tend to write much of it and when I do I'm hesitant about sharing. But I just found out I'm getting laid off and I needed something to take my mind off my worries for a moment - hence this. And I'll just have to accept that people may or may not like it, although everyone here seems quite accepting!
> 
> Murder Under the Mistletoe is not my favorite episode. Nonetheless, I always found it intriguing that Phryne sounds nervous in the moment when Jane holds the mistletoe up over her head. I wonder sometimes if that was a conscious choice. (I assume it was.) At any rate, it made me want to explore that moment. 
> 
> All normal disclaimers apply -- these are not my characters, etc, etc. Dialogue is from the episode.

Phryne Fisher was not a woman accustomed to feeling nervous. Certainly not over a man, and most certainly not over kissing one. 

And yet when Jane held the mistletoe up over her head she felt her stomach flutter and her pulse speed up and she was, undeniably, nervous. 

It irritated her that she couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause. She wanted him to kiss her. She’d thrown numerous innuendos and invitations his way and took every opportunity she could to stand just a little too close. She’d made a game out of making him blush. She enjoyed the look in his eyes when she pushed him, equal parts discomfort and desire. 

And yet, he never backed away from her. If anything, he leaned in closer, parried her wit with his own. She found their repartee intellectually thrilling and sexually tantalizing. She’d been serious about taking him to bed when they first met – he was a handsome man, after all – but found she was glad she hadn’t yet. She would never have developed the camaraderie she had with him now had she bedded him and moved on. 

She cherished her their time together solving cases: interviewing suspects, searching for clues, sharing theories, impatiently awaiting the coroner’s results, arguing over her methods. She looked forward to sharing drinks with him after a long day. And always there was the possibility just below the surface of something else – something more. 

Perhaps that was what frightened her, and made her voice quiver when she declared her kisses couldn’t be compelled. Or perhaps it was fear that it wasn’t what he wanted. That despite conversations filled with teasing subtext, their banter was just that. She quickly dismissed the thought. She hadn’t misunderstood.  
She turned to look at him. 

Maybe it was none of that. Maybe it was simply that she didn’t want it to be here, in this time and place. It wasn’t her kisses that couldn’t be coerced, but that she didn’t want his to be. She didn’t want a restrained public kiss. She wanted a greedy, wanton, passionate exploration of his mouth. She wanted to succumb to that kiss and allow it to lead where it may. 

“Hemi-parasitic,” he corrected her, in that low throaty rumble that made her skin tingle. Of course he would correct her. She felt herself suddenly back on familiar territory and leaned in toward him. 

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said. She saw his eyes flutter to her mouth, the rest of the world dropped away and she imagined him closing the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers and then trailing kisses down her neck, her back pressed up against the piano and her hands running through his hair as she pulled him close.

And then Aunt Prudence brought her back to reality by proclaiming it was time for another song, while Cec laughed somewhat uncomfortably. The room felt warmer than it had mere moments ago. Jack gave her a smile – she may have imagined the hint of smug knowledge in it – and pulled his eyes from her to join the singing. Phryne sighed inwardly, allowing her disappointment and frustration to linger for a moment before joining the song herself. She could still feel his presence behind her and she enjoyed the proximity. There was still hope another opportunity would present itself. This was, after all, Christmas in July, and she was determined to enjoy herself thoroughly.


End file.
